


Nouveau

by osunism



Series: Get Us There [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, F/M, One Shot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osunism/pseuds/osunism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson likes her new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nouveau

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all didn't realize I was trash, huh? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

She was new. He liked new.

All fresh-faced and silver-eyed, soft and pliant everywhere a Circle mage should have been. Her heart was soft too, the way she argued with him at the war table when he proposed a swift and decisive course of action.

“We’re not tyrants, Samson,” she’d say in protest, “not everyone’s head needs to go on the chopping block because we’re impatient for a solution.”

He’d bare his teeth at her in a harsh grin.

“Never gonna get results unless you’re willin’ to put ‘em between the hammer and the anvil, Inquisitor.” He watched her jaw set, watched her eyes narrow as she dropped her gaze to the map. Quickly, she marked the area she wanted him in, placing the iron gauntlet in the center of the ‘X’ she’d marked.

“Fine.” She said tersely, “Just don’t cause a damned diplomatic incident.” Samson gave her a reverent bow, flourished his hand a little.

“As you will, Inquisitor.” There was an undercurrent of humor in his voice and he saw her lip curl.

 

* * *

 

Later, when the meetings were done and the Inquisitor retired to her chambers, he found her. It ended like it always did, but that was only half the fun.

“You really get off on butting heads with me, sweetling,” he said to her, only to be met with her scoff, “I at least deserve to know what’s got you so riled up lately.”

She was undressing behind the folding screen, hanging up her shirt and trousers, before poking her head out. Her hair was a long black mass of waves, spilling over her dark brown shoulders like rivers of ink. Samson loved her hair, loved to knot it up in his fist when he fucked her. She played dominant in the war room all she wanted, and he acceded to her without question. Well, that was a lie. He gave her a little lip sometimes, because he knew it made her blood hot.

But here, she was a different woman entirely.

“We’re still getting angry letters from Orlesian nobles about your little…display at the ball,” she said, emerging from behind the screen in a satin robe, “and a few marriage proposals.”

“Sod the bloody Orlesians,” Samson said automatically, but he wasn’t thinking about Orlesians, “what do I need with some frilly girl with bits of fluff for brains? I’ve got what I need, already.”

He was thinking about how he could see the imprint of her nipples in her robe. They were hard, he knew they were hard, but then she turned away from him to go to her desk.

“We talked about this, Samson,” she warned, rummaging through a stack of papers, tapping her bare foot in agitation, “we can’t fraternize in public. You must appear to be available. Which, by your definition, you are.” He didn’t miss the harshness in her tone. So it was that again.

“I already fuckin’ played their sodding Game, Hadiza. Political gambles ain’t what I was brought in for.” He sniffed, wincing. His bones ached and he was overdue for another dose. He’d been overworked lately and he’d upped his dosage to twice a day just to deal with the migraines. Hadiza knew, but she didn’t say anything. As long as he kept snapping his proverbial jaws at the throats of her enemies, she wouldn’t stop him. The minute he became ineffective, he knew she’d find someone else to fill his role.

But that someone wouldn’t know her like he knew her.

He came up behind her, peering over her shoulder, brought his hands to her hips to squeeze, just hard enough to feel her gasp.

“No, it’s not,” she agreed, “but you’ll do as I ask for the sake of the Inquisition, Samson.” He brought his head down, nudging hers aside to expose her neck. He kissed once, but drew a single line with his tongue.

“Of course, Your Worship,” he murmured against her moist skin, “don’t I always?”

He felt her body melt, felt her will give way, smirked when he heard a tremulous breath shiver out of her. He didn’t have to say anything. She set the sheaf of papers she’d been reading back on the desk, turned in his arms, and kissed him.

This is how it was going to end.

It ended with him pulling her robe open, cupping the lush and generous weight of her breasts in his hands, thumbing her hard nipples to make her groan. It parted her lips and allowed his tongue entry. She could taste the spice of liquor and the sour aftertaste, but that’s not what she wanted. Samson knew her, knew what she wanted more than anything. The robe slid down to bunch at her wrists as she leaned back against her desk for support, the sash still tied and holding it up. She was freshly bathed, smelling like lavender and jasmine, her hair still a little damp.

Good. He liked her softened up and wet.

“Samson, I—“ He cut her off. No talking. They were done talking. This was the part where he got her singing. Hadiza had a set of lungs on her, he learned. He learned that when he first tumbled her in the undercroft, after she’d sent Dagna and the smith away. He’d bent her right over the stair’s railing, both of them impatient, and he’d fucked her hard enough to make himself sore. She’d been so shocked, so wanton, so eager.

Now, he’d had her a dozen different ways, but this was her favorite. She liked him when he kept his armor on. She liked to hear the leather sliding and stretching, liked the look of him taking her with abandon. Gentle Hadiza, with the infectious laugh, and sterling eyes, wanted to be fucked within an inch of her life.

Samson was only too happy to oblige her. Something about the way she looked in those final moments, when she lost all her control, when her voice started straining higher and higher, sucking air into those starved lungs, and then shuddering from head to toe as she came, skewered around his cock.

The thought made him harder than stone.

“Turn around.” He said gruffly, and she blinked, but obeyed. Samson pulled the hem of the robe up over her ass, sucking in a breath. He loved her ass, how perfectly round it was, how it looked in that overpriced mess of gauze and diamonds she’d worn in Orlais. He’d had a devil of a time trying to get her to come for him quietly in that thing. He’d been so elated when the business in Orlais was done that he fucked her in the dress anyway when they’d barely made it into her room. He loved the way the diamonds in her dress caught the light, sending reflections all across the room.

But he loved her naked. Loved to lick all the places on her body that made her toes curl.

“Samson…” She ventured then yelped when he delivered a swat to the curve of her ass, grinning as the cheek rippled in response. Her yelp only heightened his excitement. He grunted, then swept one foot to kick her legs apart. He found that when she was just like this—quivering with anticipation—she was in her most perfect state of being. He reached down, used one finger to test the waters and found them overflowing.

“Andraste’s tits, girl, you’re wet as rain. How long have you been hot like this?” He demanded, tracing her slit back and forth until his finger was covered with her, until the lips simply parted with ease. Occasionally, he circled her clit; just to see her braced arms quiver on the desk, hear her fighting a moan, and so he continued circling her clit, while his other hand squeezed her ass.

“Well?” He prompted, and dipped a single finger in, relishing the slick and wet sound as her hot, velvet sheath flexed around the digit. He slid his finger back out, grinning at her whimper.

“Since the meeting.” She admitted in a shaky tone. Samson licked his dry lips, and then slid two fingers into her, and her strangled little sound of pleasure seemed loud in the quiet of the large bedchamber. He pumped his fingers in and out slowly, enough that she dripped down in the webbing of his fingers, making them sticky. Hadiza put that arch in her back, tried to move her hips against his hand, only for him to spank her ass again, bringing her to stillness.

“So you were arguing with me all that time, thinking about how I was going to fuck you blind later, hm? Is that how we always end up like this, Hadiza? You gotta fight me to get wet?” A third finger joined the first two and she yelped, feeling herself stretched but no less wet than before.

“N-no…!” She managed, and he saw her arms buckle a bit, heard that high pitched wail as his fingers found that rough spot high in her sheath, stroked it once, and she almost caved. Hadiza bit her lip when she heard the sound of buckles coming undone, heard the whisper of leather laces being untied and opened. His fingers withdrew, and empty of him she had time to regain her bearings.

“Brace yourself.” Samson warned, and licked his fingers shamelessly. Hadiza trembled, her fingers splayed on her desk, even as Samson spread her legs a little wider. He liked her exposed for him, loved the feeling of slipping into her with the ease of a familiar glove—a tight glove, but familiar and comfortable. When the head of his cock brushed her entrance, she nearly leapt out of her skin. His warm palm pressed into her back, arching it a little more. Then, without much grace, he thrust forward and buried himself hilt-deep. Her moan was loud, torn and forced from her throat in surprise and unspeakable relief.

Samson held himself in her, groaning, taking her hips in his hands, and listening to her breathe deeply in and out. Each time she did, she squeezed him. He hissed.

“Trying to finish me off before we get started, girl?” He demanded, slapping her ass again. She laughed, then gasp when he drew out and immediately began to punish her for her impudence. Hadiza barely had time to cry out before it was choked off with high-pitched yelps each time his hips met her ass. She dug her nails into the rude wood of the desk, scattering papers as she clawed for purchase, her head hanging low as she let out ragged cries of pleasure, relief, and pain. Samson guided her back and forth along his cock easily, relishing the sight of her split open around him. He was thick enough to make her feel full, and he watched when he withdrew, how it tugged her inner lips with each pull, the seam of her tight around his slick shaft.

Samson got to a point where he lost himself in her. Hadiza was like that. She wasn’t some seasoned doxy from Kirkwall, all dispassionate and cold. No, she burned and writhed. She gave back as much as she got, pushing herself against him so that the sound of flesh on flesh was loud in the room. He almost wished her balcony doors were open. Sometimes he wanted them to hear her. Wanted them to know that the Wolf of Skyhold had the Inquisitor bent over her desk, cursing and begging for his cock. Or on other days, when she dropped to her knees, all too eager to suck him dry.

He wanted them to know, loved the thrill of seeing her in the war room, all cool and composed and focused. He loved to shatter her focus, loved to see those drops of sweat roll down the hollow in the center of her spine. Later, he’d trace those sweat paths with his tongue. He thrust harder, reveling her choked gasp of his name.

“Gonna come for me, sweetling?” He crooned, nails digging into her hips. He’d leave his marks where no one else could see. But he knew afterward she’d reflect and relish as she always did. That was well and good because he always reflected on these moments. He reached beneath her, found her clit and slowed his strokes to a near-stop. Hadiza writhed and shuddered, her lust-slick walls rippling around him.

“Please…please… _please_ …!” She begged and Samson licked his lips again. Her hair…Maker yes. He wanted it all twisted up in his hand.

“Please what, sweetling?” He purred, sliding her clit between his fingers idly. Hadiza answered him with a long, drawn-out groan. It was throaty, straight from the center of her passion, spiraling into the cool atmosphere. He wondered if anyone heard them, wondered if anyone knew just how bad a girl their Inquisitor could be.

“Let me…let me…” Hadiza’s words came faltering and sobbed out as Samson applied just enough pressure to her clit to send her right into a climax. She screamed, and he let her, her arms giving way as she lay on the desk, her pert ass still in his grasp while her cunt milked him, shuddering and flooding him with a wash of liquid heat.

Samson took his pleasure then and only then. He took her hard, took her with no civility, pumping in and out of her until he heard her desk scrape across the floor. He took her until he saw her nails drag along the desk’s surface, leaving claw marks. It was too bad he hadn’t fucked her on the war table. He would have loved to see Josephine and Leliana’s faces when they found the marks of Hadiza’s pleasure carved into the wood.

He was beyond everything now. He was fucking her, he was fucking her and chasing his own release, and in his brutality, he inevitably made her come for him again, her voice sobbing out his name, begging, pleading, beseeching him until he roared out his own release, burying himself deep within her, coming in hot spurts, his cock twitching against her walls. He felt some of it leak out. Maker! How long had it been since he last had her? Halamshiral? On the way back? That was weeks ago. Andraste’s sword he was backed up. He sagged, leaning over her, panting, and then turned to nip her ear, careful to control his weight so as not to crush her back with his armor.

“Mmm…” She purred, then flexed around his cock, making him hiss. He tore out of her quickly before she did it again, swatting her ass.

“You wily bitch,” he swore, “trying to be the end of me?” Hadiza was already fetching her towel to clean up, discarding her robe and heedless of her nudity. Samson took her offered towel when she returned, finding it already wet so he could clean himself off.

“One day you’re going to get stuck in there,” she teased, “and then what will you do?”

“Die a happy son of a bitch,” Samson answered without missing a beat as he stuffed his cock back into his breeches and started reapplying what he’d discarded. Hadiza snorted, crossing her arms.

“Only you’d want to die inside of a woman.” She muttered. Samson paused, looking up to meet her gaze. He gave her a lopsided smirk.

“No, just you.”


End file.
